


Field Mission

by NevillesGran



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Espionage, F/F, Gun Violence, Rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 22:52:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12443556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevillesGran/pseuds/NevillesGran
Summary: To save a teammate, Keyleth must attend a fancy party and infiltrate a Chroma Conclave stronghold. Unfortunately, she has a partner for the mission.





	Field Mission

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a wedding present that Matt and Marisha will probably never see, because I hecking love them and their characters.

Keyleth hated this mission. The fact that she had self-assigned it did nothing to diminish her hatred. It just left her with only herself to blame.

“Stop pinching your lips like that. It blows your cover as an empty-headed chit.”

Oh wait, there was definitely someone else to blame.

Keyleth tightened her grip on Ripley’s arm, and not just because she was having trouble walking in high heels. Anna Ripley, international arms dealer, perennial pain in the Department’s ass, and _just this once_ her partner—Keyleth wished Vex was here instead. Instead of Ripley or, honestly, instead of Keyleth. She could be comfortable back at HQ with her computers. But that was selfish, and the Conclave had caught Vax on camera stealing the Fenthras Codex, which meant they’d make Vex as well. And no one else knew Percy’s codewords and methods well enough to…coordinate if something went interestingly. (Or to communicate if he was badly hurt and paranoid. Or to counter him if—no, Keyleth didn’t believe Raishan’s bullshit message for a second. Percy would never betray them. She just prayed the Deceiver and her cronies hadn’t done anything too horrible to him when they found that out.)

Unfortunately, there _was_ one other person who knew Percy that well, and this was a two-man job. Or two-woman, as the case may be.

They reached the hotel door before Keyleth was ready. Ripley extended one cool hand to the doorman, holding a heavily embossed invitation.

“Dr. Anna Ripley, and guest.” A smirk played on her lips like she knew a joke he didn’t get. Keyleth held still, and did her best to smile without giving anything away.

The guard scanned the invitation with his phone, waiting until it beeped a confirmation to look back up at them. Keyleth didn’t let herself relax an inch—falsifying the invite had been the easy part of the job.

“I’m afraid I need to get your guest’s name, ma’am,” the guard said. He was dressed like he worked for the Palazzo he stood in front of, but a discreet five-colored pin on his collar announced the hosts of the party within.

“This is my assistant, Kiki Dawson.” Ripley spoke before Keyleth could open her mouth. She pulled their twined arms a little closer, as if to claim the younger woman.

Keyleth smiled at the guard, trying to make her expression fit her dress. It was a low-cut, sleeveless, lime green thing, matched to her shoes, meant to draw attention to her curving figure and the tattoos swirling over her dark skin. Normally those were just for her, but tonight they had to be part of the costume.

The guard waved them in with only the hint of a lecherous smirk. As soon as they were through the doors, out of sight, Keyleth aimed a heel at her “partner’s” foot. Ripley pulled away just in time.

“Whatever happened to us _both_ being incognito?” Keyleth hissed.

Ripley kept towing her across the lobby, speaking softly but without a hint of self-doubt. “Wouldn’t have worked. I’ve dealt with the Conclave before, and they don’t like me much. Umbrasyl probably remembers my face, and Raishan certainly does.”

“Then how did we just walk into her party?”

Again, that goddamn smirk. “I phoned ahead and offered to sell her my new missile shield.”

 _Cabal’s Ruin?_ Keyleth wanted to say, just to prove that they had broken her security enough to know—but it was too late. They were already at the ballroom doors, and thank god it wasn’t like a ball in fairy tales, where they would be announced at the door, or Keyleth would just about have died.

It was awful enough. There were so many people, milling around in clothing that cost enough to feed a small country, and Keyleth recognized enough of them at a glance to know that they probably _had_ collectively starved several small countries. Or they would within the year, and wouldn’t care. They just drank champagne and made small talk, and around them glittered a dozen crystal chandeliers, enough gold to bankrupt one more, medium-sized country. Not, Keyleth knew, Raishan’s usual standards of taste—fuck, did that mean Thordak was here, too?

Then again, they did have quite a prize in the prison below.

She didn’t need Ripley’s nudge to trip against the first waiter she saw, and spill champagne down her very cloth-free front. It was barely even an act.

“Honestly, dear.” Ripley sounded more like an irritated schoolmarm than someone who would ever call another ‘dear.’ “Do you have the faintest sense of the dignity of an occasion?”

“I am _so_ sorry, ma’ams,” said the waiter. He pointed back towards the lobby door, his own white shirt stained gold. “There’s a bathroom right out there and to the right, if you need it. Please, let me fetch you a finer drink as an apology. A rosé? Or we have a fine old Chanteau, put down in 1927.”

“Thank you,” Keyleth said before Ripley could say something snide.

Ripley saved it until they were back in the hallway. “Well, they certainly know we’re here, now.”

“Like we needed them to,” Keyleth snapped back. “Or did you want them wondering why you appeared at the front door and never in the party?”

Ripley just rolled her eyes, and took the lead as they walked—not crept; never look like you don’t want to be caught—down the opulent hallway.

“You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to,” Keyleth hissed, struggling to get her heels through the thick carpet.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to let somebody _else_ kill—quiet.” Ripley caught her by the arm and pulled her flat against the wall just before a T-intersection.

Keyleth fumbled a compact mirror, very quietly, from her pocket, and angled it stealthily at her side. She caught a glimpse of the same uniform the guard at the door wore—black; Security. Two of them were coming down the intersecting hall.

There wasn’t enough cover here, and they had gone entirely the opposite direction from the bathrooms. Keyleth glanced uncertainly at her “partner.”

Ripley already had a pistol in her hand, from where, Keyleth didn’t know. _How_ , she didn’t know. There had been an X-ray weapons scanner carefully concealed in the front door. Keyleth only had a couple shocks stored up in her tazer-bracelets.

Keyleth tugged Ripley’s arm to get her attention, and pointed at the gun. _Too much_ , she mouthed silently.

 _Silencer_ , Ripley mouthed back, raising one eyebrow like she was genuinely surprised Keyleth was this stupid.

 _Bodies_ , Keyleth replied, because _I don’t want to kill random guards who probably only work here because they get a half-decent paycheck_ would be ignored, and was too long, and wouldn’t work out anyway.

Then she gave up and, as Security’s footsteps approached, pushed herself over Ripley’s front (hiding the gun), and kissed her on the lips.

She caught the arms dealer by surprise. Ripley’s mouth was open to retort something else; Keyleth pressed into it with what she hoped was a convincing moan. Her fists bunched in the fabric of Ripley’s dress—much more modest than her own, but it felt just like it looked, like fabric made of midnight. Her touch, when she brought her arms up to rest on Keyleth’s shoulders, was warm; both women’s pulses racing.

There were two soft thumps at Keyleth’s back. One of the guards stopped halfway through clearing their throat.

Keyleth pulled away, wiping her mouth, and looked behind her. Both guards were on the ground, a woman with a neat hole in her head and a man gurgling and choking as blood spilled out of his throat. He tried to reach for the radio on his hip, but his arm twitched uncontrollably.

Ripley stepped around Keyleth and shot him a second time, a wound to match his partner’s. Her gun was perfectly silent.

“That _wasn’t necessary_.” Bile rose is Keyleth’s throat, and tears in her eyes, and she hated them both. Hated field missions in general and this one in particular, hated every reason that she had to be on it and that she couldn’t handle any of it.

“You are utterly naïve,” Ripley sneered. She peered around the corner for more guards, gun still in hand. Her carefully coifed bun was mussed from where Keyleth had pushed her against the wall. “The elevator shaft is this way.”

“You—”

Before Keyleth could finish her insult, the supposedly solid ground shook beneath their feet. Of course, both women knew full well there was a complete Chroma Conclave facility beneath this building. But it was supposed to be stable.

It shook again, harder this time, as if the source was moving closer to the surface. It came from further south, down one arm of the T. There was the faintest echo of an explosion.

“Percival,” Ripley said with a snake-like smile, as Keyleth breathed a relieved, “Percy.”

Keyleth left her heels behind as they both took off running down the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> Theories about what's happening with Percy? Favorite line you want to gush about? Typo to point out (please, if you see one)? Comment!


End file.
